An eleven-infusion journey through forest, sea, stone and coconut sweetness.
Brewing Parameters
- Water: Volvic Natural Mineral Water
- Leaf: 5 g
- Vessel: Porcelain Gaiwan
- Session: 11 infusions
Before the First Pour
The dry leaves appeared darker than Bai Ji Guan, almost charcoal-grey, with a crisp, tightly twisted appearance. They immediately conveyed a stronger roast.
The aroma was unmistakably woody, reminding me of an old bookshelf that had quietly aged through the years.
Once the gaiwan was warmed, however, everything changed.
The dusty bookshelf gave way to living wood. Light floral notes emerged alongside resinous camphor. The air no longer smelled old; it smelled like a forest, where patches of fresh grass peeked through beneath towering trees.
After rinsing the leaves, another transformation occurred.
The lid carried a resinous camphor reminiscent of pine sap, accompanied by a marine freshness. The aroma cup transported me to marshlands filled with wild herbs and damp soil. It was no longer simply a tea. It had become a landscape.
First Infusion
The liquor was a deep herbal-brown, clear and inviting.
A faint resinous camphor lingered in the aroma.
The first sip surprised me with a gentle honey sweetness. The liquor was remarkably thick, smooth and creamy, immediately coating my lips and tongue. The aftertaste lingered long after swallowing.
Second Infusion
The tea found its backbone.
Pleasant bitterness appeared, supported by a distinctive oceanic minerality. It reminded me of seawater—not salty, but fresh, mineral and alive.
The liquor remained thick and smooth, coating my entire tongue.
The back of my tongue seemed to ask for another sip.
Third Infusion
Another wave of minerality arrived.
This time it reminded me of ocean waves crashing against a great coastal rock. Beneath it lay a subtle impression of beach sand exposed during low tide.
Salivation became abundant.
The sea had fully revealed itself.
Fourth Infusion
The flavours blended into the tea’s true identity.
The mild bitterness became the anchor, providing structure without overwhelming the palate, while subtle hints of beach sand swirled gently through the mouth. My tongue continued to water, although unlike some of the other teas I have reviewed, this tea did not produce a particularly strong throat resonance.
For the first time during the session, I finished the entire brew.
A vivid scene formed in my mind.
I found myself on a quiet sandy island surrounded by clear seawater. Gentle waves rhythmically washed against the shore while a lone coconut tree offered shade. I held a coconut beneath it. The tea carried a calm, refreshing coastal character—mineral, subtly sweet, and deeply satisfying rather than dramatic.
Fifth Infusion
The tea began to reveal its physical presence.
Despite sitting in an air-conditioned room, a heat rose through my body that refused to be ignored. It was not a gentle warmth, but a living heat that wanted to be known. Soon I began to perspire. My senses became heightened, and my awareness sharpened.
The liquor now carried a greater intensity—not alcoholic, but wine-like in its concentration, depth and commanding presence. The mouthfeel remained thick and enveloping, coating the palate with authority.
The peaceful island scene transformed. The once-moderate waves now crashed harder against the shore. The sea grew restless, and the island was caught in mounting turbulence. I instinctively gripped the coconut to keep it from falling from my hands.
Sixth Infusion
The turbulence began to calm, though a splash of liquid from the coconut entered my mouth.
The liquor felt like coconut water shaped by the sea—as if waves had struck a rough, massive stone, shaving off fine sediments into the water. This gave the tea a rocky character, but not in a harsh way. The flavour was sweet and savoury, mineral yet nourishing, like coconut water carrying the memory of stone and waves.
Seventh Infusion
The sweetness and savouriness continued to persist as I took another sip from the coconut. The internal heat softened, becoming gentler and less insistent, while the minerality grew even more pronounced. The liquor felt increasingly refined, revealing the character of the rock more clearly with each sip.
The roof of my mouth and my tongue were now the most heavily coated, producing abundant salivation. My throat, however, began to feel slightly dry, creating an interesting contrast between a moist, active palate and a drier finish.
The sea had calmed. I gently placed the coconut on the ground and bent down to touch the coarse sand beneath my hands. Running my fingers through it, I began to understand the island itself.
Once again, I finished the entire brew.
Eighth Infusion
The minerality remained unwavering, but the sweetness had grown more pronounced. Neither competed with the other. Instead, sweetness and minerality existed in balance, each enhancing the other’s presence. The tea had found its centre.
The soft bitterness continued to accompany the liquor, but it no longer acted as the backbone. It had become a seasoning—a quiet accent that added definition and depth without drawing attention to itself.
The sea was now calm. The island breathed in stillness after the earlier turbulence.
Ninth Infusion
The liquor was now just a shade lighter, signalling that the tea was gradually yielding its final gifts. Yet it had not become thin. Instead, sweetness and creaminess took centre stage, while the minerality remained gently woven into the background.
The island was peaceful once again. Having finished the coconut water, I scooped the flesh of the coconut with my fingers.
It was sweet.
Tenth Infusion
I sat beneath the coconut tree and continued to eat the coconut flesh.
It remained sweet.
To my surprise, there was still much more flesh than I had expected.
Although the liquor had lightened, the tea continued to offer quiet nourishment.
Eleventh Infusion
The drink continued to persist.
I took another piece of the coconut flesh into my hands.
It was enough.
I was satisfied.
Tasting Scorecard
| Attribute | Score | Impression |
| Dry Leaf Aroma | 7.8/10 | Charcoal-grey leaf, aged wood and a clear roasted presence. |
| Wet Leaf Aroma | 8.5/10 | Living wood, camphor, pine resin, marsh herbs and marine freshness. |
| Floral | 6.3/10 | Light florals beneath the forest character. |
| Fruit | 7.5/10 | Honey and emerging coconut sweetness. |
| Spice / Resin | 7.7/10 | Persistent resinous camphor and pine-sap character. |
| Minerality | 9.0/10 | Distinct coastal rock, mineral water and coarse-sand impressions. |
| Sweetness | 8.5/10 | Honeyed at first, then increasingly coconut-like and nourishing. |
| Bitterness | 7.2/10 | Pleasant structural bitterness that later becomes a quiet seasoning. |
| Roast | 7.6/10 | Clearly present early, then integrated into the wider landscape. |
| Body | 8.7/10 | Thick, creamy and concentrated across the session. |
| Mouthfeel | 8.8/10 | Smooth, enveloping and strongly coating. |
| Finish | 8.2/10 | Long mineral-sweet finish with abundant salivation and slight throat dryness. |
| Yan Yun (Rock Rhyme) | 8.9/10 | Rock and sea remain vivid from the early infusions through the finish. |
| Longevity | 9.2/10 | Eleven satisfying infusions with sweetness and texture persisting late. |
| Cha Qi | 8.3/10 | Distinct rising heat, perspiration and heightened awareness. |
| Overall Impression | 8.6/10 | A patient, enduring Da Hong Pao defined by coastal minerality, thick texture and emerging sweetness. |
Final Reflections
Da Hong Pao did not impress me through dramatic florals or overwhelming roast.
Instead, it unfolded patiently through forest, sea, stone and island.
Its defining characteristics were:
- Thick, creamy mouthfeel.
- Distinct coastal minerality.
- Gentle bitterness used as structure rather than force.
- Honeyed sweetness that steadily emerged.
- Remarkable endurance through eleven infusions.
Unlike Bai Ji Guan, which danced with delicate florals, or Lao Cong Shui Xian, which spoke in aged wood and quiet contemplation, this Da Hong Pao found its voice in the meeting place of rock and sea.
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